Taco

My story

Meet Taco — the refined gentleman of the Pyr world. While younger dogs are out there chasing tails and poor life decisions, Taco has already achieved enlightenment in the ancient art of Doing Absolutely Nothing. His daily schedule is simple yet sophisticated: wake up, inspect the kingdom, receive adoration, take a nap, repeat. He’s a connoisseur of comfort, a master of relaxation, and a firm believer that the best form of cardio is a leisurely stroll around the yard—preferably followed by snacks and another nap. He enjoys his walks—not for the exercise, mind you—but to ensure all is in order in his neighborhood and that no rogue squirrels have attempted a coup in his absence. Taco is an 8-year-old, 102-pound Great Pyrenees—yes, you read that right. He’s roughly the size of a small glacier and moves at about the same speed. This big guy isn’t in any hurry to do anything unless, of course, something absolutely requires his immediate royal attention. Then, in a plot twist worthy of its own nature documentary, this senior pyrabear transforms from “retired lawn ornament” to “spry, galloping cloud of fury” in seconds flat—bounding across the yard with all the grace of a much younger pup who’s got a bone to pick with a suspicious leaf or an overly confident squirrel. I’m sure you’re wondering how a dog like Taco—who sounds like everyone’s dream come true (lazy, allergic to exercise, and fully committed to moving through life at a glacial pace)—ended up back in rescue. Well, life threw Taco and his family a curveball. His humans received a deployment overseas, and as fate would have it, Taco’s other allergy (besides the one to cardio) decided to ruin the plan. Because of his dreaded allergies, the country they were heading to wouldn’t allow him entry. So, with heavy hearts and plenty of tears, his family made the difficult decision to surrender him back to us. Now, this big, beautiful snowbear is back with us, ready to find a new throne where he can rule over a home, soak up affection, and ensure all unauthorized squirrels are properly escorted off the premises. Life may have changed his plans, but Taco’s mission remains clear: nap, patrol, repeat. Like any seasoned monarch, he has some requests for his new home. He’s good with other dogs—but let’s be clear—he has absolutely no interest in rowdy young whippersnappers bouncing off the walls, challenging his authority, or creating any kind of household drama. Taco is the “been there, done that, bought the T-shirt” kind of dog. He values serenity, mutual respect, and personal space. So if your home is filled with endless wrestling matches, hyper pups, or self-declared alpha personalities, Taco kindly asks that you keep scrolling. His dream home is one where the energy level stays closer to “retirement village” than “college frat house.”He’s also lived peacefully with cats—an arrangement that worked beautifully because they had an unspoken agreement: they did their thing, he did his, and the kingdom remained harmonious. He even did great with kids in his previous home, having grown up alongside a 5-year-old boy and a 13-year-old girl. Taco has proven himself to be patient and gentle. That said, given his age and his preference for quiet dignity, he’d like to skip any households where the kids think he’s a pony or part of their obstacle course. Like a true Great Pyrenees, Taco won’t be leaping into your lap or showering you with kisses on day one. He’s a thinker, an observer, and a dignified guardian who takes his time deciding who earns a spot in his inner circle. But once you’re in—once he’s decided you belong in his kingdom—you’ll have the kind of loyal, steadfast companion who watches over you with quiet devotion, gentle affection, and a sense of calm that only a Pyr can provide. Taco is what we’d call a “3 out of 10” on the energy scale—which translates to “I will go for a walk if you ask nicely, but I’m not doing a marathon, Susan.” He’ll happily join you for a stroll around the neighborhood to make sure everything in his kingdom is still in order. But the second you suggest a jog or, heaven forbid, fetch, he’ll give you that slow Pyr blink that says, “You go ahead, I’ll catch up... never.” He’s got his priorities straight—naps first, snacks second, light patrols third. Now, don’t let his “retirement pace” fool you—this boy has seen the world. Literally. Taco traveled all the way from Canada to Oklahoma, making him a well-seasoned (and well-traveled) gentleman. When it comes to car rides, he’s quiet, calm, and cool—no motion sickness, no drama, just pure, unbothered Pyr energy radiating from the back seat. On leash, Taco’s tail wags with anticipation the moment he sees his collar come out. He walks beautifully—most of the time. But let’s be honest, he’s still a Pyr, so if something catches his attention, he will remind you that he is in fact, stronger than you. Personality-wise, Taco is the definition of calm, cool, and collected—until the pack starts barking. That’s when the switch flips. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s certain it’s important and demands a full-scale response. He doesn’t need an actual doorbell to prove his skills, either; if he hears one on TV, he’s on duty, rounding up the troops. For about thirty seconds, he’s the Chief of Bark Security… then he goes back to being the sleepy ambassador of peace. As for his ideal home, Taco’s flexible—he’s fine with a fenced yard to patrol, but he’d also do well in an apartment or quieter home where leash walks are part of the daily routine. Let’s get this out of the way: Taco knows his commands. “Sit,” “Down,” and “Shake” are all part of his professional repertoire. He’s potty trained, too, which isn’t surprising—he’s far too dignified to stoop to such chaos indoors. As for kenneling? Don’t even bother. Taco doesn’t “do” crates. He’s more of a “free-range potato” kind of guy, preferring to stretch out wherever the floor feels most luxurious. His former family never crated him either, so as far as he’s concerned, the whole concept is a myth invented by lesser beings. He doesn’t chew, doesn’t dig, doesn’t dumpster dive, and doesn’t redecorate your home while you’re away. Frankly, he’s almost suspiciously well-behaved, and you will be in awe every time you come home and everything is in fact exactly as you left it. Taco’s a sweetheart through and through. He loves being petted, so much so that he’ll gently nudge your hand back if you dare stop too soon. He doesn’t mind being brushed and will graciously tolerate it as long as you acknowledge how handsome he looks afterward. He even tolerates baths like a stoic war hero. Taco is basically the canine equivalent of a retired celebrity—handsome, mellow, and entirely unimpressed by your mortal struggles. He is the full package—wise, handsome, fluffy, and so chill he could probably lower your blood pressure just by existing. So, if you’re ready to welcome this majestic cloud of fluff into your life, head over and fill out an adoption application at https://www.pyrpawsandfluffytailsrescue.com/adoption-app so we can send it to his foster family. But fair warning: you’ll need to pick up your new snowbear in Tuskahoma, OK, where Taco is currently ruling his temporary kingdom and waiting for his loyal subjects (that’s you) to come claim him.

If you have any questions or would like to adopt Taco, please reach out to the adoption group directly. PetSmart Charities does not facilitate the adoption process. Thank you.